“Also a lot more complicated than it sounds.”
“Ah. I get it. What has Bob said?”
“Bob has passed me on to the welfare team. They’re really nice, and they’re trying to find me some emergency accommodation because, you know, we can’t stay at a service-station hotel forever... but I’m a bit worried about that. I know what emergency accommodation can look like, and I don’t think I can cope with that. With a hostel, or a group home. Been there, done that, don’t want to buy the T-shirt.”
“Why would you, when the one you’re wearing is so very awesome?”
I glance down at my own chest and am reminded that I am modeling one of Barb’s finest—pink background, decorated with two cartoon hedgehogs canoodling and the words “All you need is love.” Huh. Maybe she’s right. Love and maybe beer. I suppose “All you need is love, beer, a washing machine, a TV, and a roof over your head” would be too long for a T-shirt slogan.
“I found some clothes,” I reply. “Just need to get to the launderette, maybe tomorrow now. Except I also need to go into work. And look after Charlie. And sort out a million things. I think my head might be about to explode.”
“Don’t let it do that,” he says gently. “You might splatter the steak. Look, I know this is hard—terrible in fact. But it’ll all be okay in the end. I’m guessing you’ve already overcome a fewobstacles in life, and this is just the latest. We’re resilient, we humans. Take each day as it comes.”
“Yeah. I know. I’m trying. Mindfulness and all that. Except I always find myself thinking—if you’re super mindful, and live in the present, and don’t worry too much about the future, then eventually you’ll run out of clean undies...” I am rambling, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the heat, the beer, the circumstances, or the simple fact that someone is being kind to me.
“So,” I say, trying to rein myself in a little, “what led you to this way of life, Luke? How did you end up as an old man of the road, traveling life’s highways in a van... I mean, motorhome?”
“Less of the old, please; I’m forty-three. And that is a long story, for another time. Let’s just say that I reached a crossroads, much like the one you’re facing. A moment when everything changed and I had to make some hard choices. It didn’t feel like it at the time, but it was the best thing that ever happened to me. This lifestyle... well, it’s not for everyone, and it’s maybe not forever, but it’s right for me, at this stage. Plus, I’m an adrenaline junkie, and you haven’t lived until you’ve tried to get one of these babies down a narrow country lane, let me tell you...”
He hasn’t actually answered my question in any meaningful way, but he has avoided it skillfully. He is a bit of a pro at that, I suspect. I am consumed with genuine curiosity, but understand that some things are just too difficult to talk about.
He gets up and moves the food around on the grill, a pop and a sizzle sending up delicious aromas. He puts the steak out onto a plate, adds some salad and a roll, and shouts Charlie over.
Charlie responds in exactly the same way as Betty, running at speed, nostrils twitching. His ears aren’t as long as a dachshund’s, though, so he can’t pull off the cute flapping thing that she does.
He takes the food and collapses down onto the grass a little way off. His face is red from the sun and the playing, and he swipes sweat from his forehead as he says thank you. I feel a momentary stab of guilt that Luke has given Charlie the posh meat, but that is wiped away when I see how happy it makes my son. He practically cries with joy, muttering about how good it is as he eats. He is easily pleased when it comes to food and has enjoyed being in a hotel, but this is next-level stuff.
“So,” says Luke, sitting down again. “I found some of your things. I went for a walk down on the beach this morning to see what was what.”
“Oh gosh, maybe I should have done that too... What did you find?”
I am silently hoping it was something useful, and not my fifth-best underwear or a toilet brush.
“It was all pretty grim, to be honest. The council people took away the big items, but there’s still some wreckage. Garden furniture, some pillows, what looks like the remains of some kitchen chairs. Nothing that can be salvaged, I’m afraid. But I did manage to gather up some of your photos—after the storm settled, a lot of them seemed to land down there. Pretty muddy, but okay once they dried out. Plus I found a tied-up carrier bag that seems to be full of documents.”
“Ah,” I reply, feeling a spike of relief, “you discovered my filing system! That has our passports in it, which is brilliant. And photos... well, that’s even better. Thank you so much. I am so grateful for everything you’ve done. You didn’t need to bother with any of that, and I really appreciate it. We wanted to get you a present, but we didn’t know what you’d like.”
“You’re very welcome. Living my old-man-of-the-road lifestyle, it’s nice to have a bit of company.”
“Do you get lonely? You don’t seem like you’re lonely. You seem... self-sufficient?” I babble.
He grins, and the crinkles around his green eyes deepen. “Yep, that’s me. A self-sufficient old man of the road. You make me sound like one of those survivalists who lives on a mountain and shoots squirrels for dinner...”
“Well, if the baseball cap fits...”
He laughs, then stands up and sorts out the burgers. He hands me a plate, and I force myself to pause, fighting the urge to stuff the whole thing into my mouth at once. I can be classy like that.
We eat, and he gets another couple of beers, and I see that Charlie is stretched out in the sun, Betty curled up next to him. He’s looking at his phone, and I swear it looks like Betty is as well.
“Lonely is a difficult one to define,” Luke continues, leaning back in his chair, “and I don’t think you can tell from looking. Just because I live alone doesn’t make me lonely. And just because people are married or live in big families doesn’t mean they’re not. You can be surrounded by people who love you and still feel lonely, you know?”
I nod. I do know. I am also now fizzing with curiosity—what is this man’s backstory? Why does he live like this? What happened to make him choose this path? And really, why is it any of my business? It’s not, I know, but I find him deeply interesting—he’s gone from being a surly almost-neighbor to this real-life heroic figure who not only pulled me back from a cliff edge but is being so very kind.
“Yes, I do know,” I reply. “You’re right. I’ve raised Charlie on my own for most of his life, and I love him to bits. Can’t imagine being without him. But there have been times—nights, mainly—where it’s been lonely, even when he’s lying in the next room. Yousee other parents at school, and it feels like there’s always two of them and one of you. You go on holidays, and the whole place seems full of neat little family units. Even though, again, you can’t tell from looking, other people seem to have these perfect lives, while I’m just scrabbling along doing my best on my own. I wonder sometimes if I should have tried harder to meet someone else, to build a better family for him, if I’ve let him down in some way...”
“All parents think that. All parents feel guilty, either for the stuff they have done or the stuff they think they should have done. In fact, I’d make a claim that guilt is the sign of a good parent—it shows you give a damn. And Charlie doesn’t seem to be doing too badly, does he, despite your many failings?”
I pause and stare at Luke, pointing one finger. “You are too wise, and too kind, and too good to be true,” I say. “Are you secretly a serial killer who keeps rope and duct tape on hand at all times?”
